hand. “I’ll speak with Dr. Gunter, then I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
Vaill dismissed her with a wave. Slowly, his eyes closed. He began to drift off wondering whether he had the strength to stand up, incapacitate his guard, and simply walk out of the hospital. If he had no other choice, it would happen.
Unable to sleep, he rolled onto his side and for a time, stared out the window. He was lost in a montage of lurid, bloody fantasies, when Dr. Gunter appeared at his bedside.
“Good news to share,” the neurosurgeon said, checking something in Vaill’s bedside chart.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I had a long conversation with your chief, Agent Snyder. She told us of the discussion she had with you—specifically your desire to return to work as soon as possible and resume your investigative duties. I sent for the head of my department, Dr. Weitz. We reviewed your remarkable progress so far, and ended up assuring Agent Snyder that, barring any unforeseen complications, there is no medical reason why you would not be able to continue in the capacity to which you are accustomed. You are in fact one of the luckiest gunshot survivors I have ever encountered.”
Tell that to my wife, Vaill thought savagely.
“Thanks, doc,” he said instead, turning back to the window.
The pounding in his head had intensified, and with it came an overpowering confusion. It was as if the passive neurologic process of thinking was a ball-peen hammer smashing down on his brain. He barely heard Gunter excuse himself and leave the room.
CHAPTER 12
A true Neighbor must be pure of heart to take the Oath of Secrecy and in doing so, swear to uphold the ideals of the society before God.
—LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors , SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 167
The powerful rotors of the twin-engine helicopter flattened the young crops and tall grasses of the field beside Floyd’s cabin. Lou had been unable to pick up a cell phone signal until they were in sight of the cabin’s fieldstone chimney and the river. At that point he and Floyd still hadn’t settled on a method of getting Cap to a hospital that wouldn’t further shorten his already dwindling odds of survival.
The sparkling red-and-white paint job emblazoned on the cockpit doors showcased the company name—North Georgia Air Ambulance. It had taken forty minutes following Lou’s call for the chopper to arrive. Were it not for the GPS on his phone, it could have taken considerably longer. Lou had described the landing area to the pilot prior to take off. She required a hundred-by-hundred-foot minimum to land, more if there were surrounding trees or wires, of which there were none provided she made her approach from the south. Blessedly, the weather cooperated.
Floyd’s wife, Rebecca, an ample, rosy-cheeked woman, wearing a gingham housedress, shielded her eyes against the swirling dust and debris. The pilot of the impressive-looking aircraft took advantage of the low foliage along the river to make an angled approach, and made a picture-perfect touchdown on the improvised landing pad. Lou noticed that Floyd, tugging on his beard, was watching the landing with a reverent expression, as though he’d been transported from his simple frontier life into the distant future.
Two crewmembers in red-and-white jumpsuits emerged from the aircraft and raced to Cap’s side as the rotors were still slowing. They were followed by the pilot a minute later. Lou had provided them with details of the accident they would be dealing with, and what they could expect to find. The trauma nurse, Julie Bellet, sounded skeptical of the description of Cap’s injury, and what had been accomplished by doctor and patient in the forest. Lou didn’t blame her. He was still having trouble believing it himself.
He quickly exchanged names with the team. Daniel, a paramedic, was a muscular man in his twenties with the grip of a bear trap. He hauled a
Vaill dismissed her with a wave. Slowly, his eyes closed. He began to drift off wondering whether he had the strength to stand up, incapacitate his guard, and simply walk out of the hospital. If he had no other choice, it would happen.
Unable to sleep, he rolled onto his side and for a time, stared out the window. He was lost in a montage of lurid, bloody fantasies, when Dr. Gunter appeared at his bedside.
“Good news to share,” the neurosurgeon said, checking something in Vaill’s bedside chart.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I had a long conversation with your chief, Agent Snyder. She told us of the discussion she had with you—specifically your desire to return to work as soon as possible and resume your investigative duties. I sent for the head of my department, Dr. Weitz. We reviewed your remarkable progress so far, and ended up assuring Agent Snyder that, barring any unforeseen complications, there is no medical reason why you would not be able to continue in the capacity to which you are accustomed. You are in fact one of the luckiest gunshot survivors I have ever encountered.”
Tell that to my wife, Vaill thought savagely.
“Thanks, doc,” he said instead, turning back to the window.
The pounding in his head had intensified, and with it came an overpowering confusion. It was as if the passive neurologic process of thinking was a ball-peen hammer smashing down on his brain. He barely heard Gunter excuse himself and leave the room.
CHAPTER 12
A true Neighbor must be pure of heart to take the Oath of Secrecy and in doing so, swear to uphold the ideals of the society before God.
—LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors , SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 167
The powerful rotors of the twin-engine helicopter flattened the young crops and tall grasses of the field beside Floyd’s cabin. Lou had been unable to pick up a cell phone signal until they were in sight of the cabin’s fieldstone chimney and the river. At that point he and Floyd still hadn’t settled on a method of getting Cap to a hospital that wouldn’t further shorten his already dwindling odds of survival.
The sparkling red-and-white paint job emblazoned on the cockpit doors showcased the company name—North Georgia Air Ambulance. It had taken forty minutes following Lou’s call for the chopper to arrive. Were it not for the GPS on his phone, it could have taken considerably longer. Lou had described the landing area to the pilot prior to take off. She required a hundred-by-hundred-foot minimum to land, more if there were surrounding trees or wires, of which there were none provided she made her approach from the south. Blessedly, the weather cooperated.
Floyd’s wife, Rebecca, an ample, rosy-cheeked woman, wearing a gingham housedress, shielded her eyes against the swirling dust and debris. The pilot of the impressive-looking aircraft took advantage of the low foliage along the river to make an angled approach, and made a picture-perfect touchdown on the improvised landing pad. Lou noticed that Floyd, tugging on his beard, was watching the landing with a reverent expression, as though he’d been transported from his simple frontier life into the distant future.
Two crewmembers in red-and-white jumpsuits emerged from the aircraft and raced to Cap’s side as the rotors were still slowing. They were followed by the pilot a minute later. Lou had provided them with details of the accident they would be dealing with, and what they could expect to find. The trauma nurse, Julie Bellet, sounded skeptical of the description of Cap’s injury, and what had been accomplished by doctor and patient in the forest. Lou didn’t blame her. He was still having trouble believing it himself.
He quickly exchanged names with the team. Daniel, a paramedic, was a muscular man in his twenties with the grip of a bear trap. He hauled a
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